Armourer Plans an Advance
There was no sleep for Armourer that night.
Besides Sembilan and the two soldiers he had dispatched with a note
and provisions for Trevor, the force at his disposal consisted of a
corporal and two men, and from midnight onwards he kept these fully
occupied.
Immediately after his momentous interview with Dara he sent the
corporal to Ketatan station with a wire for the Commissioner and
instructions to await a reply before returning. The remaining two left
at the same time for Vance’s estate, to borrow coolies and collect all
food supplies available in the district.
The task of guarding the brown girl he shared with Chong-Si; but Dara,
far from seeking to escape, appeared anxious to remain in the company
of the white man who had promised to protect her, displaying
restlessness only on the few occasions when his duties compelled him
to leave the verandah.
In company with the two terriers, Chong-Si regarded her presence there
with suspicion. In his experience as a cook-boy to European masters,
native women were only admitted to the living quarters when it was
intended they should become permanent members of the household, and he
had no desire for any black _ngi_ to assist him in administering to
Armourer’s comforts. Apart from this, the Butterfly ornament at her
throat inspired him with a sense of acute uneasiness.
He had heard a vivid and rather exaggerated account of the death of
the man whose place he had taken, and the pendant that Dara wore bore
a striking similarity to the one in the story. Consequently, upon the
few occasions when he was left alone with her, he took care to put the
entire length of the verandah between her and himself.
Mick and Mac--never quite able to forget the proximity of a
stranger--interrupted their slumbers on the long chair with
intermittent barkings and growlings intended to express their
disapproval, and to convey to the girl that she was only there on
sufferance and that at any other time, should it be their good fortune
to encounter her in the open, they would cheerfully combine in a
whole-hearted attempt to deprive her of her _sarong_!
Dara, on the other hand, with the Crimson Butterfly restored to her
and Armourer’s assurances to lend her courage, treated all these marks
of disapproval with blissful unconcern. Upon the second occasion that
the arrangements for the forthcoming expedition compelled the
magistrate to absent himself, she rose from the floor, possessed
herself of the cigarette-tin, a box of matches and the cushion
Armourer had given her, and curling herself comfortably in a corner,
alternately smoked and dozed.
Once only, when in a waking moment she intercepted a glance from
Chong-Si charged with all the venom and contempt that a low-caste
Chinee is capable of putting into his eyes, did she show signs of
being conscious of his presence.
She responded to his look with interest, lowered her lids, shuffled
herself into a more comfortable position, and spat on the floor.
It was Chong-Si’s first duty of the day to thoroughly clean that
floor, and her action, combined with the knowledge that he was
powerless to call upon her to remove that mark, cause him to writhe
inwardly.
By a freak of doggy psychology, however, Dara’s misdemeanour was
destined to gain her a valuable ally in Mick, the more disreputable of
Armourer’s two dogs. On account of a reprehensible habit of hiding odd
bones and slaughtered vermin in corners of the verandah, Chong-Si and
himself had never been the best of friends, and he could not refrain
from admiring the coolness with which she had committed an offence
dear to his own heart!
He cast a sidelong glance at the servant, descended from the chair and
crept, with ears back, towards the woman. He gained the object of his
desire in a roundabout manner, encircling in his rambling course most
of the articles of furniture on the verandah, sniffed at the floor,
cocked up one ear, backed growlingly from Dara’s first friendly
overtures, and succumbed abjectly to the second. The other terrier
shortly followed suit, and the magistrate, returning by way of the
stairs, found Chong-Si--ill-favoured and obviously ill at
ease--hopelessly outnumbered by a majority of three to one!
Armourer, dropping into a chair, nodded to the servant. “_Baik-lah_,
Chong-Si! Go and sleep.”
He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, trying
to discover whether he had forgotten anything vital.
His eye fell on the decanter and he poured himself out a generous
helping, feeling that he had thoroughly earned it.
Half an hour later Trevor stumbled up the steps and sat down heavily.
“Well, old son! here we are, tired and mudded up to the ears and damn’
glad to feel a decent floor beneath our feet!”
Armourer pushed over his glass.
“If you want a cigarette, that girl in the corner has them. How did
you get on?”
Trevor groaned.
“We covered a deuce of a lot of ground and indulged in quite a
respectable _scrap_ with some nude fellows armed with blow-pipes; but,
as far as Mrs. Battiscombe is concerned, we failed miserably.”
He accepted a drink, lit his pipe and gave the magistrate the story.
Armourer listened in silence.
At the conclusion of the narrative, he sat bolt upright and, reaching
for the other’s hand, shook it hard.
“Damn’ good man!” he commented.
Trevor appeared surprised.
“But we did nothing,” he protested.
Armourer grinned.
“I’m glad you call it nothing! I call it a deuce of a lot. I admit you
didn’t pull off the main object of your expedition, but you
accomplished all that could be expected of you and brought back a lot
of valuable information into the bargain. Our lady friend over there
has promised to guide us to Abu’s headquarters, but, in the event of
her failing us at the last moment, we know sufficient land-marks to
enable us to make a good start. More than that, we have learnt that
Abu has a considerable following, the nature of weapons likely to be
employed--and we can take precautions accordingly.”
The planter conjured up a twisted smile.
“It’s very decent of you to put it like that, but I can assure you I
don’t feel in the least bit satisfied with myself. To think that a
damned black scoundrel should be able to spirit a white woman from
under our very noses--and get away with it! That’s what gets my goat.
But we were so confoundedly handicapped. There was that confusion in
the beginning, with three or four people making tracks and nobody
quite certain which to follow. When we did make up our minds, it was
jolly rough going. To cap everything, Sembilan--who, by the way,
behaved like a Trojan--was held up by a fellow dropping on him from
the trees. To come down to brass tacks, I suppose _you_ ought to have
gone with Sembilan, and I should have waited by the hut until some
more of your chaps came up.”
Armourer shook his head.
“Not a bit of it! I shouldn’t have done any better, and quite probably
not so well. You came to the conclusion that any other sensible man
would have arrived at: that your obvious duty, on finding your party
outnumbered, was to trek back for reinforcements. Honour and glory are
two very fine things, and they look uncommonly well in print, but
there are times when a live man with a tongue in his head and a useful
pair of eyes is a damned sight more use than all your defunct heroes!
Our job is to get Mrs. Battiscombe back, and time is certainly an
important factor; but, with a genius like Samar to contend with, it
needs a properly organised expedition.”
Trevor suppressed a yawn.
“When are you going to start?”
“As soon as ever I get official sanction from Jesselton. That ought to
be here any minute now. I’ve asked for a few more men and I hope to
get moving before the sun is well up.”
The other’s face fell.
“I suppose I’m out of this, as usual?”
“Don’t you believe it! I’m taking the law into my own hands and Vance
will have to put up with being short-handed for a few days.”
“He may decide to come himself; in which case I shall have to run the
estate.”
Armourer shook his head.
“I’m not giving him the chance. Between ourselves, I don’t think he’s
quite the man for this business. We’re bound to encounter
disappointments, and Vance is anything but a cheering companion in
adversity. Also he’s taken Moberly’s death so badly that he’ll want us
to assign him the privilege of dispatching Abu-Samar. My first duty is
to get Samar _alive_.”
Trevor rubbed his hands together.
“D’you know,” he declared, “I’m rather looking forward to this little
outing. I never fancied myself very much as a nigger-driver, but I’m
beginning to believe that hunting down criminals is the job I was
originally intended for. I wonder if you’ve a hundred or so cartridges
that’ll fit this pistol of mine?”
The magistrate looked at it.
“It seems to be the regulation bore.”
“It is.”
“Well, you’ll be relieved to learn that I can accommodate you. I
expect you’re tired.”
“I am,” confessed the other. “If you happen to have a spare bed
anywhere, I’ll curl up on it for a couple of hours.”
“You can have three to choose from. I’m not using mine.”
Trevor unlaced his boots.
“So that,” he remarked, nodding towards Dara, “is the important
witness?”
“That’s it.”
“Not a bad-looking girl.”
Armourer smiled. “I’ve seen worse!”
The planter came to his feet, boots in hand, and threw a final glance
into the corner. Suddenly he started. “D’you see what she’s got on?”
he demanded excitedly.
“The Crimson Butterfly, you mean?”
“Good Lord, yes! I thought we’d lost sight of it for ever. Are you
sure it’s quite all right?”
“The Crimson Butterfly,” said Armourer, “appears to be one of those
things that is quite harmless when it’s in its right place. It happens
to be there at this moment. When you make your next appearance, I’ll
introduce you to Dara--the real goddess of the Crimson Butterfly!”
Trevor whistled. “So you’ve snaffled _her_, eh? Well, it’s some
consolation to learn that somebody’s done something!” He disappeared
through the doorway of Armourer’s room without another word.